Command Performance
by justinegraham
Summary: When you're cooped up on a tiny ship in the middle of nowhere, you make your own fun. Trip-to-Bespin shenanigans, barely stronger than vanilla kink. First chapter formerly titled "Leia's List". Co-written with Erin Darroch (erindarroch)
1. Chapter 1

**Command Performance**

By Justine Graham and Erin Darroch

 **A/N1:** This bit of nonsense is the fault of some lovely Anon (and one or two other cherished readers) who requested a follow-up to our fic "Pillow Talk". For some reason, we were both taken with a very silly idea for Leia's "list" that she mentions in that story. We rattled this out in two days flat, which is the equivalent of point-five past light speed, as far as we're concerned. Please do not expect anything like _logic_ or, you know, redeeming qualities of any kind. Ha! Thanks for all the love and encouragement. (Who says readers' reviews don't inspire new fics!?)

 **A/N2:** You may have read chapter one of this fic already (when it was entitled "Leia's List – Item #1"). That title was a little clunky, we decided to expand the story, so we've renamed it and published it here. If you have already read "Leia's List", you can skip to Chapter Two.

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Han peered into the open 'fresher and then, finding it empty, stepped back and hit the controls to close the door before turning and moving back to the centre of his small cabin. Bracing his hands on his hips, he considered the neatly folded pile of clothes—Leia's clothes—perched on the deck plates near the foot of his curiously stripped-down bunk. He recognized most of the items in the stack. They'd been borrowed from his own locker to augment the princess's meagre wardrobe; enough to get her through the next fifty-five days, anyway. It was the oddest thing, though; he could see at a glance that _all_ of her clothes were there. In the thirty-three days since they'd bolted away from Hoth, he'd become very well acquainted with every garment she possessed and they were all, including the clothes she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her, now sitting in that small, tidy pile. Wherever it was that Leia was hiding, he mused with interest, she wasn't wearing much.

He swivelled around on his booted heel as he scanned the room once more, and then turned back to face the barren bunk, perplexed. She must have known that he would be following right behind her as soon as his shift was over. He'd said as much not thirty minutes before, when she'd slid out of his lap and retreated from the cockpit in the wake of an exceptionally heated interlude that had left Han's whole body tingling, wanting, burning with desire for her—despite having been the sole focus of her amorous attentions not once, but _twice_ that day already. Their sexual relationship was in its earliest stages, but Han was conscious of how many hours they'd already spent sequestered together in the bunkroom, absorbed in one another and all but ignoring Chewie. After a couple of _years_ of unremitting tension, though, they were finally done with denials, and making up for lost time. Han was pretty sure the big Wook would understand.

Waiting for his friend and co-pilot to arrive and take over for the night watch had felt like the longest thirty minutes of Han's life. Despite his best efforts to distract himself with star charts and the scant galactic news coming through in patchy bursts on the subspace transceiver, his mind kept returning to the memory of Leia, dressed only in sleep shorts and a stretchy thermal top, with his own lucky red socks on her feet, sitting astride him in the captain's chair. Their heavy flirtation throughout the day had led once again to an extended groping session, and then to a series of passionate kisses that had set Han's blood on fire. If Leia hadn't broken away at the critical juncture and taken herself out of reach, he was pretty sure they'd have sealed the deal right then and there. And _that_ , he was equally sure, was something the big Wook would _not_ so easily forgive.

The instant Han had completed giving Chewie a hasty report, he'd made a beeline straight to his quarters, thrumming with anticipation as he pictured what awaited him there: the cabin lights lowered to a subtle glow and Leia curled up in his bunk, adrift in the misty twilight of half-sleep, waiting for him to return and wake her with his kiss, in an ironic parody of the fables he dimly recalled from his childhood. He had to chuckle at that imagery; she was hardly the stereotypical fairytale princess, and he sure as hell wasn't a knight in shining armor. The _Falcon_ was no mighty steed, either—not in her present debilitated state, anyway.

He was contemplating heading back out into the main hold to look for his wandering princess when he heard the muted hiss of the cabin door. He turned with a bright smile already in place, one that quickly turned into a wide-eyed, gaping, slack-jawed stare.

 _Holy hells._

She stood in the doorway wearing, as he'd anticipated, very little. His hungry eyes devoured her, taking in the sight of her bare feet, so small and vulnerable on the metal deck plates, and then roaming up the shapely contours of her slender legs, before stopping short at the lower hem of the oversized uniform coat that hung on her to mid-thigh. The garment was fastened only at her waist with a single button, Han realized with a gulp, and he could see a tantalizing glimpse of pale skin in the gap between the lapels. His stunned gaze scanned lower once more, mindlessly attempting to penetrate the shadows below the button, to determine if Leia was wearing anything else underneath the heavy grey jacket.

Han's eyes were drawn to the insignia emblazoned above the breast pocket. _Wait_... was that his _Imperial Academy uniform?_

He blinked and finally closed his gaping mouth, suddenly conscious of the fact that Leia was eyeing him with some amusement. He'd all but forgotten that damn uniform was even on his ship—or he'd tried to, at least. It was a sorry remnant of a dark time in his life. Why he hadn't jettisoned it out of the airlock a long time ago, along with all of the bitter memories woven into the very fibre of its stiff fabric, he would never know.

Staring at it now, he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't ditched it. Otherwise, he'd have deprived himself of _this_ incredible sight.

Despite having been tailored to fit his younger, rangier frame, the uniform jacket was still far too big for Leia's petite body. It hung unevenly and sagged across her shoulders, and the sleeves dwarfed her arms, even with the cuffs rolled up as far as they could go. Han stifled a laugh, at the same time as his brain generated a wave of pure lust that careened instantly southward. She looked impossibly tiny and comical—and sexy as hell. She stood now with one hand planted on her hip in an exaggerated coquettish pose, the gap between the lapels widening even further to reveal another glimpse of creamy skin, and the shadowy curve of one firm breast. Han swallowed past the lump in his throat and dragged his eyes away, his gaze coming to rest upon what she held in her other hand.

He furrowed his brow. Was that…. _Nah, couldn't be_. Or was it?

He cleared his throat, belatedly striving for some semblance of self-possession. "Uh, Princess… mind telling me what—"

Leia took a step inside the cabin, allowing the door to slide shut behind her. She tilted her chin up and then, despite her diminutive height, somehow managed to look down her nose at him in an expression he hadn't seen on her face in a very long time.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," she said imperiously, although he could immediately tell she was trying her damndest not to laugh. To Han's amazement, he heard the haughty ring of a Core Worlds accent in her voice, eerily reminiscent of the one employed by many of his old Navy commanders. He stared at her, utterly at a loss for words.

Leia's dark eyes flashed. "And stand at attention when addressing an officer, Private."

Han raised an eyebrow at that, and then let his eyes drift over her from head to toe. "The way you look in that getup, Sweetheart, parts of me are working up to it, believe me."

He watched Leia bite the inside of her cheek as she fought against a smile. She quickly regained her composure, though, and her voice was sharp when she snapped, "You will address me by my _rank,_ soldier."

Han gave himself a mental pinch, just to be sure he wasn't actually sound asleep and in the throes of some incredibly vivid erotic dream. He let his eyes wander over her petite figure once more, drinking in the sight of her, evidently naked except for his uniform coat. He swallowed hard, and fought to stop his face from breaking into a gleeful grin. He had no idea what she was planning next but, whatever it was, he was damn sure gonna play along.

"Sorry, _Lieutenant_ ," he drawled, taking a few steps closer. "Permission to speak freely, sir...er...ma'am?"

"Granted."

"What the hell are you doing with Chewie's cacao syrup?" He nodded toward the open jar she held in her hand.

She arched one eyebrow. "That's classified."

"Classified, eh?" He hooked his thumbs in his belt, feigning nonchalance, but his heart was hammering wildly and his mouth had gone dry. Leia in charge, even play-acting the part and wearing that ridiculous uniform, was the stuff of pure fantasy. He couldn't believe his luck.

She gave a curt nod. "Affirmative. Need-to-know basis, only."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged. "Well you _need to know_ that Chewie brought that back all the way from Telos IV. That's his private stash. Your mission's gonna turn ugly real quick if you haven't requisitioned your supplies through the proper channels."

Leia masked a bark of laughter with a little cough, and then took a deep breath. "The _supplies_ are fully authorized."

"He _gave_ it to you?" Han shook his head in disbelief. "He must really like you, Princess. He won't even let me lick the spoon."

The corner of Leia's mouth quirked up as her composure wavered. She recovered with near-seamless perfection, though, clearing her throat and pulling her shoulders back into the stiff-backed posture of a true military commander, while rearranging her delicate features into an expressionless mask convincing enough to make Han's old drill sergeant proud.

"That," she said, "is a gap in your training that I fully intend to correct." There was a hint of mischief in her mockingly stern voice, and her tone was weighted with enough promise to raise the hairs at the back of Han's neck.

"Now," she continued, her body brushing against his in a teasing whisper of contact as she glided around him and moved toward the bunk. She leaned down to place her prize into one of the shallow storage alcoves inset at the foot of the bunk, causing the lower edge of the jacket to slide up the back of her slim legs, and offering Han a tantalizing glimpse of the pale, milky skin at the tops of her thighs. "From here on in," she instructed as she straightened and angled toward him once more, "you need only follow orders." She motioned with one graceful hand toward the stripped-down bunk. "Fall in, soldier."

Though every cell in his body yearned to obey that command without delay, Han forced himself to stand his ground. He was enjoying this game too much to rush it.

"You know the _one_ thing I excelled in at the Academy?" he asked, edging forward until he stood toe-to-toe with her at the side of the bunk, and then angled a challenging gaze down into her defiantly upturned face.

Leia barely skipped a beat. "Analyzing the effect of extreme swagger on aerodynamics?" she intoned drily, arching one fine eyebrow.

His composure nearly cracked at that—she'd always been quick with a comeback—but he summoned his most belligerent expression instead, and slowly shook his head from side to side.

"Close," he told her. " _Insubordination_."

He saw the flash in her eyes then, and knew that he'd just scored a point of some kind in this little game of hers. She always had enjoyed a challenge, he mused. He gave her a dark look. "In other words," he leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "You're gonna have to _make me."_

Leia leaned back, tilted her chin up and held his gaze for a long moment. Then, dipping into one of the deep pockets of the dark jacket, she withdrew a small item roughly the length of her hand. Passing it to her opposite palm, she continued to gaze up at Han as her fingers slowly manipulated the object, unfolding and then extending it, until she was holding a slim, flexible wand about as long as her forearm. Han recognized it immediately as the burned-out wireless antenna from the subspace transceiver that they'd replaced earlier that day. He gaped and looked back at Leia's face, his eyes widening.

" _That_ , Private Solo," Leia said, her dark eyes dancing as she tapped the slender rod against her palm, "will be my pleasure."

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Okay, so Chapter One of this thing was just a lark; a bit of silly fun that was never supposed to have another chapter or a follow-up. Perhaps wiser writers _would've_ left it there, to stand on its own—but nobody ever called us 'wise'. Heh. We started to take the idea sort-of seriously. We kept thinking about what would happen next, and we had a few comments from readers wondering the same, so we decided to indulge ourselves and find out….

Rated **'M'** for sexual situations. Surprise, surprise.

To our lovely beta readers, **JennyCBS** and **LoveTh1s** : You guys are _amazing!_ Thank you.

 **P.S.** No smugglers, real or imaginary, were harmed in the making of this fic.

Han dragged in a shuddering lungful of breath, expelled it, and then swallowed hard. His heart had tripped into overdrive at Leia's words, and the sight of her standing there—so tiny and severe, barely dressed, and tapping her makeshift switch against her palm—made him feel a little lightheaded. She needn't worry about his level of attentionnow; he was riveted on her, and each quick rap of that switch on her hand sent a shot of adrenaline ricocheting through his limbs. He shifted his stance as he tried to find a more comfortable position in his suddenly-too-tight trousers, and wondered just how far she was planning to take this game. His eyes darted from hers to the slim metal rod and then back again.

"Sweetheart," he managed, finding it difficult to speak with a mouth that had suddenly gone as dry as the dunes of Tatooine. "What are you gonna— _ow!_ "

Han jolted as the switch, snapped with such lightning speed that he barely had time to register the flick of Leia's wrist, connected lightly with his upper thigh. It didn't hurt so much as it shocked, but he glanced down and rubbed at the spot with the heel of his hand anyway, and then raised his eyes to hers once more. She returned his gaze unwaveringly.

"I _said_ ….fall in," she repeated.

Han held up a deterring finger. "Now, wait a second. Let's get— _hey!_ " He jerked back reflexively as she landed a glancing blow to the opposite thigh.

"Wrong answer," Leia chided, and then tilted her head to regard him with a curious expression, the faintest hint of a smile flickering in her eyes.

He angled a wary glance at her as he dropped his hand to his thigh, soothing the mild sting of the second swat while his other hand still nursed the first, and deliberately exaggerating both motions for dramatic effect. Despite the sternness of her tone, it was evident that Leia had no intention of truly hurting him. Her movements were light and quick, her eyes were bright with amusement and desire and, behind it all, there was the shine of unequivocal affection and trust. Although she was only acting out a part, the significance of her newfound sexual boldness was not lost on Han. Clearly this was one of those items on the mysterious "list" she'd mentioned; an erotic scenario that intrigued her and piqued her curiosity. Just over a standard month into their slow trip through the Anoat sector, she was evidently feeling comfortable enough with herself—and with him—to act on a fantasy, and that was a meaningful development. If she wanted to play it out to its full conclusion, Han decided, there was _no way_ he was gonna let her down. His body had already voted firmly in favour of it, anyway.

He corrected his posture, straightening almost to a position of attention—although he continued to hold her gaze—and then carefully cleared his throat. "Permission to undress first, ma'am?"

The answering spark of delight in Leia's eyes was gratifying, and Han felt himself warming to the idea of this performance even more. He held himself perfectly still, waiting for her response.

Leia tapped the switch lightly against her own thigh, pursing her lips and appearing to give his request intense consideration. After a moment, she gave a sharp, affirming nod. "Remove your shirt," she ordered, and then—checking his reflexive movement with a light tap from the edge of her rod—she emphasized, " _Slowly_."

"Yes, _ma'am,"_ he smirked. He reached both hands up and over his head to take hold of the back of his shirt, and had it halfway over his head when he felt the rap of her switch across his trousered hip.

"What the... _hey_." He tugged the garment the rest of the way off, and then dropped it at his feet and gave her a look of consternation. "What was _that_ for?"

"I said _slowly_." There was a hint of a waver in her voice now, enough for Han to tell that she was struggling to maintain that commanding façade. Her faltering was short-lived, though; she gave a delicate little cough, adjusted her stance, and then tilted her chin at an imperious angle. "Now straighten up, soldier," she ordered sharply, "and take off your belt."

Even delivered in the haughty tones of a near-flawless Core Worlds accent, Leia couldn't quite disguise the promise of passion that simmered beneath her harsh directives. A fresh wave of anticipation rushed through Han's body, and he moved swiftly to follow her instructions, more eager than he'd _ever_ been to obey an order from someone in Imperial garb. His hands felt heavy and a little unwieldy as they struggled to work the stiff buckle, though, so he glanced down, hoping that his eyes would aid his clumsy fingers to complete their task. That momentary lapse of attention was met with another light rap, this time across his knuckles, and he sucked in a startled breath—with his hands positioned at his belt line, that one had been a little too close for comfort.

"Eyes _front,_ Private. You look at _me_ , and _only_ at me. Is that understood?"

Han slowly released the breath he'd been holding and lifted his gaze to hers, and what he saw there made him want to break into a big grin—although he caught himself in time and swiftly concealed his glee behind a mask of stoic military bearing. Leia's deep brown eyes sparkled with joy and mirth; she was clearly enjoying the role she'd adopted, and the playful bartering of power that came with it. Holding her gaze, he gave a single, solemn nod in agreement.

"And you may _not_ touch me," she added. "Not unless I order you to. Is that understood?"

Han caught his breath. Now that... _that_ order was going to be infinitely more difficult to follow, he thought, although he nodded his acceptance anyway. He knew that he could easily sway the balance and end the game, should he choose to do so. He could pluck her repurposed toy from her hand and tumble them both into the bunk in the blink of an eye. No doubt Leia would be taken by surprise at first, and then laugh and squirm in mock protest for a moment before she acquiesced, kissed him deeply and melted into his embrace. He could imagine it all in precise detail, and the possibility of instant gratification _was_ sorely tempting. But he held himself in check, intrigued by Leia's foray into fantasy. Seeing her so unfettered was well worth the risk of a minor welt or two, he reckoned. Nothing a little bacta gel couldn't soothe. And, for all he knew, maybe Leia was entertaining ideas of playing Medic when she was done playing Lieutenant. _That_ notion renewed Han's commitment to his role.

Pulling his shoulders back, he straightened into a firmly upright posture once more and muttered his agreement with her command, suddenly distracted by the mental image of Leia tending to his "wounds", wearing nothing but a short, snug medic's tunic...unfastened down to her breastbone...and maybe with some of those little garter strap thingamajigs peeking out from the bottom hem, probably fastened to the lacy tops of sheer—

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leia raise the slim antenna once more.

"Yes, _**ma'am**_ ," he interjected, in a louder and more emphatically obedient tone.

Her light switching of his various body parts didn't really _hurt_ , but he was playing a part as much as she was, and he thought he might as well do it right. His feigned trepidation seemed to please her.

"Much better," Leia declared, lowering her switch. "Carry on."

Keeping his heated gaze fixed on Leia's face, Han finished undoing his belt buckle, and then painstakingly slid the supple leather from the loops of his trousers. Leia watched his every move, her dark eyes fixed on the workings of his fingers. As the end of the belt passed through the final loop, he swept it free with a dramatic flourish and extended his arm wide, allowing the belt to dangle from his fingers before he dropped it. It landed on the deck plates with a metallic _clank_ that seemed to jar Leia's rapt attention back to the task at hand.

His boots, socks and trousers were ordered removed next, and he peeled off each item under the strict scrutiny of her watchful eye. She moved around him in a tight circle while he stripped, tapping the switch against her palm and nodding her approval—or disapproval—of his every move. Mercifully, he managed to incur only two sharp corrections: one catching him across the forearm when his balance wobbled while trying to extricate a foot wedged inside of one tight boot, and the other delivered squarely across his flank when she caught his gaze wandering down into the shadowed valley between her lapels. When he finally shoved his trousers from his hips and kicked them aside, and then stood before her wearing nothing but his snug black boxers, he was already rock-hard and aching for her.

He'd been around the galaxy a few times and had enjoyed his fair share of titillating pleasures, but he'd never had any interest in role-play— _actually_ , he amended, he'd never given it serious consideration. His sexual relationships in the years immediately prior to meeting Leia had been fleeting; short-term arrangements with like-minded women, or isolated encounters. Although a few stood out from the rest, they all paled in comparison to _this_ : a half-naked Leia Organa giving full rein to her erotic desires, with Han as her very willing subject. His present circumstances mingled with the recent memory of her sitting astride his lap in the cockpit—unhinging his mind with her hungry kisses and the urgent rolling of her hips—and he was overwhelmed with a surge of craving so strong it made his whole body thrum.

Leia's covetous gaze slid over him now from head to toe. She took a step forward, reaching out to run her hand over the firm muscles of his chest and the taut skin of his abdomen, following the trail of coarse hair that disappeared below the waistband of his shorts. Han summoned every shred of self-control to remain motionless when her gaze dropped between them and came to rest on the only part of his body that remained hidden from view.

It struck him suddenly that this was the sort of activity he never _would_ have indulged in with anyone other than Leia anyway, even if the opportunity had presented itself. There was a degree of trust required to be so vulnerable, which he had never allowed to develop with anyone else. Although the sexual aspect of his relationship with Leia was brand-new, they'd been intimate in many other ways for a long time, risking life and limb together for almost three years, and forming a solid friendship that felt just as important to Han as his relationship with Chewie. In that time, he and Leia had experienced every kind of day together, from the most mundane and tedious to the most hair-raising and dangerous. They'd shared in boring chores, pointless meetings, critical briefings and desperate rescues. They'd even shared a bed once or twice, when necessity required it, not to mention countless meals and late-night cups of tea—or glasses of Corellian whiskey, depending on the mood. He already knew deep in his bones that Leia would never willingly hurt him—not _seriously_ , anyway—although that dark sparkle in her eye said she wouldn't mind making him yelp a little.

As he contemplated that intriguing notion, Leia's fingers danced lower, skimming along the waistband of his boxers and dipping down to graze his straining groin. A fleeting but gratified smile flashed across her face at his body's involuntary twitch in response, and Han bit back a groan. If the objective was to drive him out of his mind, then she could consider her mission accomplished even before he'd removed all of his clothes.

His predicament intensified exponentially when the princess wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his boxers and gave him a slow, firm caress. Reflexively, he reached for her—his addled brain forgetting for a moment her injunction against it—and was swiftly reminded of the indiscretion with the sting of her switch against his bare shoulder.

"I said, _no touching_ ," she chastised, drawing back with a small _tsk_ of disapproval. Then, gripping his shoulder for balance, she stretched up on tiptoe to bring her mouth to within a millimeter of his. "I was _going_ to let you kiss me," she whispered, the puff of her breath against his lips sending a shiver of longing coursing through him, "as a reward for good behaviour." She subsided then and retreated a step, withdrawing her hand and offering an indifferent shrug to match her impassive expression. "But I'm afraid you've lost that privilege now."

Han expelled his breath in a rush. It was all he could do to stop his shoulders from sagging and giving away the depth of his disappointment. For a long moment, he allowed his eyes to roam Leia's enticing figure, wrestling with the desire to grab her and pull her against him, to yank that rod out of her hands, toss it away, and kiss her hard while he ran his hands underneath that uniform jacket, and then all around her soft—

Leia raised the metal switch once more, apparently following the direction of his thoughts and giving him fair warning. He ducked his head for a moment and stifled a grin.

"Respectfully, ma'am," Han said, straightening to his full height and trying his best to sound glib with a voice that sounded strained and thick to his own ears. "I think this classifies as conduct unbecoming an officer."

"Oh, you haven't seen just how _unbecoming_ my conduct can get," Leia intoned in a rich drawl. She tapped the rod several times against the heel of her hand while she appeared to consider her next move. "Into the bunk," she directed, "before I change my mind."

Han didn't wait to be told twice; hooking his thumbs inside the waistband of his boxers, he started to tug them down his hips, only to be halted by a firm rap on the flank with the edge of her rod. "Those stay on," she ordered.

Words of protest nearly flew out of his mouth before he could check the impulse, but he swallowed them, along with the groan of dismay that tried to work its way up his throat. _Of course_ she was going to draw this out, he thought, pulling his underwear back up his hips and then dropping his arms to his sides. Maybe they'd only been sleeping together for twenty-nine days, but she already understood his predilections well enough to gauge how to put a good strain on him. He leaned down and began to crawl into the bunk, but then froze once more when Leia's corrective wand swept around and halted his forward momentum with a tap to his abdomen.

"Stop there."

He had one knee planted on the bunk, one hand braced against the bulkhead at the head of the bed, the other extended towards the back of the deep alcove where the mattress met the far wall. In obedience to her command, he went stock-still, awaiting her pleasure.

Her pleasure, it seemed, was to touch him again. She trailed her fingers down the ridge of his spine to the curve of his ass, and then spread her fingers wide to press her nails into the taut muscle. She gave a soft laugh at his sharp intake of breath.

Leaning in, she whispered in his ear. "You have an amazing ass, Private," she murmured. "I could look at it for _hours_." She slid her hand down to give him another heated caress and a gentler squeeze. "Perhaps I should make you stay just like this, so I can admire it for as long as I please." She ran her hand up the inside of his thigh, just grazing his groin and chuckling softly at the way his whole body tightened at her touch. "But lucky for you, I have other things on the agenda."

Leia edged forward then and further narrowed the tiny gap that remained between them. She had already been positioned so close that he could sense the warmth of her body; now he could feel the rough fabric of her jacket brushing against the bare skin of his back, and the firm slide of her fingers as her hand snaked around the bones of his hip to the front of his shorts. He drew a quick hiss of breath as her fingers found him, first lightly tracing his rigid contours through the snug fabric, and then wrapping around his straining length with gentle pressure to give him another long and agonizingly slow stroke.

Han's resolve cracked then; the feel of her warm hand through the fabric and the teasing motion of her fingers was too much, and his breath escaped in a deep groan that he was powerless to contain. Before his conscious thoughts could fully engage, he brought one hand down to cover hers, holding the delicious pressure in place for a brief, tantalizing moment before Leia withdrew her hand from beneath his and then gave him a sharp tap on the hip in admonishment.

"You seem to be having trouble following orders," she observed, taking a step back. "You _may not touch me_ unless I tell you to, soldier. Remember? Perhaps you need a bit more practice to help you keep that in mind. Stand up and face forward."

Han backed out of the bunk and returned to his upright stance, silently berating himself for causing further delay of his eventual gratification—although he knew Leia was probably looking for any excuse to put him through his paces anyway. He fought to keep his expression neutral as he watched her lean in to place her slender wand inside one of the shallow alcoves inset into the bulkhead at the far side. Straightening once more, she then dipped a hand into one of her jacket's deep pockets, this time withdrawing a small metal object that Han didn't immediately identify. That is, he _recognized_ it—it was a cheap cast-aluminum spoon, obviously taken from the motley collection in the _Falcon's_ small galley—but his addled brain could provide no explanation as to why she'd brought it to bed with her. As he watched, she leaned in and placed it in the smaller alcove beside the jar of cacao syrup she'd somehow cajoled out of Chewie.

 _Oh._

"Now, soldier, remove my coat."

Before the words left her lips Han's hands were in motion, eager to see if she was, as he suspected, completely bare under the oversized jacket. Reaching out, he fingered the button holding the two plackets together and then tweaked it through the buttonhole, before grasping the edges of the fabric and spreading the panels wide.

His breath left his lungs in a rush. She was _indeed_ naked; beautifully, gloriously, _magnificently_ naked, and every muscle in his body grew taut at the sight of her. Vaguely aware of how shallow his breathing had become, he carefully peeled the jacket back over her shoulders and then down her slender arms, reaching around to gather the heavy fabric in one hand before casting it to one side, heedless of where it landed. Although his hands ached to touch her, he forced himself to take a step back, and then lowered his arms.

Leia took a step closer, though, once again narrowing the gap between them to just a few centimeters, although she had to tilt her head back to keep her eyes fastened on his. She was so close he could feel the heat radiating from her body and her breath stirring the hair on his chest as she peered up at him. The tips of her breasts just grazed his skin, creating frissons of electricity that arced straight southward to join with the riot of sensations already coursing through his body.

"You aren't allowed to touch me, Private," Leia reminded him in a whisper, her big brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "But perhaps... _I_ could touch _you_ …."

Han's breathing grew ragged and his blood thundered in his ears. Not convinced he still retained the power of speech, and not willing to gamble, he decided to answer her question with a short nod, although his inner voice was growing more insistent by the minute. _Gods, yes. Fuck. Sweetheart. C'mon…._

Smirking as if she could read his thoughts, Leia lifted her hands and ran them lightly over his shoulders, and then skimmed her flat palms over his chest and abdomen before bringing them to rest on his hips, maintaining the scant distance between her body and his, much to Han's frustration.

"You certainly are not the most _obedient_ soldier," she mused aloud, toying with the edge of his shorts and slanting a flirtatious glance up at his face. "But you _have_ demonstrated exceptional courage under fire. I suppose you deserve some of sort of commendation for that."

Han held his breath as she slipped her fingers inside the waistband of his boxers and then eased the soft, snug fabric past his hips. She moved at a languid pace, peeling the garment down the length of his legs as she lowered herself to her knees. The sight of Leia slowly sinking like that, disappearing from his field of view—until his stupefied brain caught up and reminded him that there was no injunction against him bending his neck to watch—was enough to send another hot wave of lust rolling through his body. Looking down, his vision swam a little at the sight of her head, crowned with a circle of dark braids, drifting down into alignment with his groin. If she didn't touch him soon, he thought a little desperately, he was just gonna have to tackle her and roll her into his bunk, rules be damned. After nearly half an hour spent in the cockpit with Leia winding him up and then leaving him gasping and panting, he was coiled tight as a spring and didn't think he could stand it much longer. She might be relatively new at this game, he thought dazedly, but she was sure as hell good at it.

 _Good_ didn't begin to describe the warm rush of her breath on his sensitive flesh, nor the exquisite sensation from the firm squeeze of her hand as she finally wrapped her fingers around his rigid length. His own breath was coming in short, sharp huffs now, his whole body taut as a wire and straining in anticipation until he felt the first soft brush of her mouth against his skin, and then the radiant heat enveloping him as she parted her lips and breathed around him. And _good_ certainly didn't come close to describing the spike of sublime pleasure he felt as her slippery tongue swept against his flesh, caressing him with a brief, tantalizing swirl. Suddenly feeling a little wobbly in the knees, he took a slightly wider stance to secure his footing, and Leia shifted on her knees to keep him close. Then, settling on her heels and gripping his body for balance, she leaned forward at the waist, wrapped her lips around him and took him deeper into her warm, wet mouth.

Reflexively, Han's hands came up to stroke her hair, before the part of his brain that still retained a sliver of perception reminded him of her strict orders against any initiation of contact on his part. _No way_ was he going to break the rules at this critical juncture, and risk losing his so-called 'commendation'. He resorted to clenching both hands into tight fists to keep them occupied, while the soft stroke of Leia's tongue and the pressure of her lips made his eyes roll back of their own accord. Although he desperately wanted to keep watching what she was doing, the powerful physical pleasure coupled with the sight of Leia's head in slow, rhythmic motion at his groin was too intense to sustain for long. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes to revel in the exquisite experience for a moment, before dragging his heavy lids open and looking down at her once more.

With his awareness dimmed by a hazy fog of lust, he found it difficult to focus at first, but then Leia's gaze flickered up to meet his and every one of his senses revived on the instant, sharpening the scene and indelibly imprinting it in memory. The sight of Leia's dark eyes looking up at him through their veil of thick lashes, while the movements of her mouth and her hand synchronized to form the perfect combination of pace and rhythm, was almost enough to send him hurtling over the edge. Indeed, it felt as though his heart was going to stutter to a complete halt. Panting, he squeezed his eyes shut and allowed his head to fall back once more, concentrating on slowing his racing pulse and struggling to gain back some semblance of control before it was too late.

He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd done this—and each and every time, the experience of it utterly wrecked him. _This_ was something she'd initiated completely on her own, and much earlier on in their developing relationship than he'd ever anticipated. Conscious of the intensity of his own desires, he'd counselled himself at first to take things slowly. He'd wanted to give her as much time as she needed to get used to their new dynamic and to explore at her own pace. But Leia had never been the shy or passive type. Once she made up her mind about what she wanted, she went for it, no holding back. So it was no surprise—a _mind-warping turn-on_ , yes, but no real surprise—the moment she'd gently hushed his half-hearted attempts at deferral and urged him to lie back, and then kissed her way down the length of his body and driven him close to madness with the first sweet, tentative touch of her lips. From that moment to this, she'd demonstrated a deep, intuitive understanding of what pleased him most, and an even greater desire to use that knowledge to her full advantage.

With nowhere to put his hands now, and fighting against the urgent need to touch her, there was nothing left for Han to do but surrender. He raised his arms, laced his fingers together over the back of his head, and gave himself up to the blissful sensation of heat, the gentle friction of her lips, and the soft, slick sweep of her tongue that turned his heavy breathing into groaning curses.

And then she stopped.

The moan of deep dismay that emanated from Han's throat seemed to amuse and delight Leia enormously, judging by the way her dark eyes danced as she gracefully regained her feet and met his gaze once more. There was a knowing smirk playing about her lips as she took a step back. Han let his eyes roam brazenly over her bare figure, avidly watching the enticing movement of her breasts as she planted one fist on a cocked hip and then tapped her chin with a thoughtful forefinger.

"You seem a little shell-shocked, soldier," she observed wryly. "Looks like you could use a good kiss."

Focusing lust-bleary eyes on Leia's mouth, drawn there by the sight of her brushing her fingertips across her slightly swollen lips, he thought, _Hell yeah, Princess. Lay it on me_. A remote part of his brain congratulated him on his fortitude in not blurting that plea aloud. He managed to give her a stiff nod instead.

"All right," she murmured, moving in closer and standing on tiptoe. "I can arrange that."

Bracing one palm against his chest, Leia stretched her supple frame higher while the other hand slipped between them to take hold of him once more, her fingers brushing across his skin with a light, teasing stroke. This time, Han didn't even try to hold back his response. He dropped his chin to his chest, bringing his face closer to hers—so close, he could feel the slow smile that spread over her lips at the sound of his suffering groan—and he was almost certain that he could smell the faint scent of cacao in the warm rush of her breath. _So close._ All he had to do was lean in a little, tilt his face to hers, and—

"On second thought," Leia said, releasing him and then retreating a step, "I haven't given you much of a chance to speak your mind, have I?" Her eyes were alight as they travelled down the length of his body, taking in the state of her handiwork, and then flicked upwards again to meet his gaze. "Go ahead, soldier. Sound off; tell me what you want. To make sure our mutual objectives are aligned, of course."

Dazed and breathless, Han opened his mouth to speak, but his first attempt at forming words resulted in little more than silent mouthing. He shifted his stance, gave a little cough to clear his throat, and then glanced in the direction of the bunk as he tried again, groping around in his vacant mind for the appropriate words to use.

"Permission to...uh..."

Leia cocked one eyebrow. "Permission to….?"

'Permission to stand down, _ma'am._ "

"That's better. Your request is granted. Into the bunk, Private," she commanded softly, tilting her head towards the mattress pad. "On your back."

With his vision glazed and his mind hazy with lust, Han felt as though the pace of reality had shifted into slow motion. He had barely comprehended _granted_ and _on your back_ before he found himself stretching out on the mattress in compliance with Leia's orders. He looked up to find her standing at the bunkside, bare and lovely, with the thin metal switch in one hand and the jar of cacao syrup—spoon jutting from the top—in the other. He was still vaguely wondering how he'd managed to miss the sight of her leaning over him to retrieve both items when she leaned forward again and extended the rod to him.

"My last official act as your Commander-in-Chief," she said, affecting a solemn expression, "is to hand over the reins of power to _you_."

Dazedly, he shifted up onto one elbow and accepted the rod from her hand.

Leia straightened to her full height. "Congratulations, _Commander_. Now _you_ get to decide how and where we use _this_." She waggled the jar, and then lowered it and peered into the open top, putting on a mournful expression. "I suggest you choose wisely, though. There's not much left."

Somewhere in the back of Han's mind it registered that Chewie had willingly given up the last of his prized stock to Leia, confirming what Han had suspected for some time: she was right up at the top of his friend's short list of favorite humans. He doubted that the Wookiee had even the slightest notion of what she'd been planning to do with it, though, and he was sure the big furball would be utterly baffled by the concept of—

The sound of the princess pointedly clearing her throat called Han's attention back to the bunkside, and to her tempting proposal. Taking a firm grip on the wand, he propped himself up on one hand and extended the antenna towards the princess, briefly resting the slender tip of it on her bare shoulder as he scanned her figure and pondered his options.

Leia scraped a scant spoonful of creamy cacao from the bottom of the jar and held it at the ready.

Gently, Han used the tip of the wand to trace the delicate bone of her clavicle, and then drew it down the centre of her chest to rest between the swell of her breasts, while his eyes flicked from left to right.

"Here?" Leia queried softly, touching the skin between her breasts with the tip of the brimming spoon.

Han shook his head and let his eyes roam lower. The tip of the wand followed in the wake of his gaze, grazing lightly over the smooth skin of her abdomen, before coming to rest on the tiny divot of her belly button.

"Here?" she asked, a smile warming her voice. She brought the spoonful of thick, dark syrup down to the level of her waist and awaited his command.

"No," he said, dragging the thin wire down in a meandering line south of her navel and then lower still, finally lingering to stir the small patch of curls between her thighs.

" _That_ would make _such_ a mess," Leia _tsk_ ed, shaking her head in disapproval, though her voice was strained with laughter.

Han's brow furrowed in mock indignation and he shot her a glare. "Hey, who's in charge here?"

"You _were_ ," she replied, popping the spoon of cacao into her mouth and making a slow show of licking it clean and then swallowing the rich confection. She eyed him reproachfully. "But your hesitation at a crucial moment—not to mention your _obvious_ inability to make critical decisions—would indicate that you're unfit for that duty." She dropped the empty spoon back into the jar with a faint clatter and then brought her hand to her mouth to suck at the traces of sticky syrup left clinging to her fingertips.

Han blinked.

"You handled basic training," she conceded with a shrug, taking up the spoon once more and scraping it against the bottom of the jar. "You even handled advanced drills—with flying colours, I might add, _and_ earned a commendation for your efforts." She lifted the spoon from the jar, rotating it to catch the thread of cacao that caught on the edge of the rim. "But the burden of command...well, it's not for everyone," she sighed. "So, I guess there's only one thing left to do."

Han held his breath as she lowered the spoon and painted first one nipple with a thin layer of syrup, and then the other.

"It's back to boot camp for you, _Private_ Solo," she intoned severely. "Now... _clean up this mess_."

 **-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**


End file.
